So I’m watching Lungelo eat his pasta at Lupa restaurant. He’s battling and I’m debating whether I should help. He changes hands and wrestles with the knife and fork. Our waitron spots it and glides up discreetly and hands him a spoon, at which Tommy notices and roars with laughter, whips out his camera and videos Lungelo’s struggle while gleefully commenting that his mate is “having a nigger moment” battling to eat white man’s food.
Talk about discreet! Not!
Lil bastid. No doubt he’ll share the video with all their social media mates.
Tom then showed Lungelo how to wrangle pasta, just as Rita his Italian mentor had taught him. Luckily Lungelo has broad shoulders, knows Tom well, and – – – was chosen for SA schools 7’s rugby! That’ll boost anyone’s self-confidence, so he knows he’s good.
It’s our annual Mom’s Birthday Night Out. Sixth of January. Six cream sodas, a huge main course and dessert later they’re groaning and the stories are dwindling.
As usual they ordered too much, so needed doggy bags. Lots of posing as we walked home. Dad! Take a pic. Take another one! Wait, let’s do this. Let’s do that. Jeeeesh!
This is terrible parenting. I took Jess and friend to the same restaurant the next night for Mom’s Bday night treat and because they behaved I didn’t get a single picture!!
Their big breakout was they decided they wouldn’t have cooldrink, thanks, they’re young ladies now. They’d have a cocktail. Ordered ‘chocolate martinis’ – !!?
They barely finished them. ‘The chocolate tasted funny’ – Hello-o!?